Goodbyes and Lullabies
by I Took the One Less Travelled
Summary: The word goodbye had never done him any good. Companion to Shatter. Spoilers through The Angels Take Manhattan and The Snowmen. Eleven's thoughts on the word goodbye, and how it always ends. Nine/Rose, Ten/Rose, Eleven/Rose, Eleven/River, Four/Romana, Eleven/Clara, Amy/Rory.


**SPOILER WARNING: Spoilers up through The Angels Take Manhattan and The Snowmen.**

**Pairings: So, for a fic that wasn't supposed to be shippy, I sort of overdid the pairing bit. Nine/Rose, Ten/Rose, hints of Eleven/Rose, Eleven/River, hints of Four/Romana (it makes sense. Sort of.) Amy/Rory, and sort of implied Eleven/Clara. Oops. Anyway, enjoy.**

The word goodbye had never done him any good. All those people who waxed poetic about bittersweetness, about moving on with your life... No. The word goodbye had never done him _any_ good.

_"I'm burning up a sun, just to say goodbye."_

That one had torn him to shreds inside. Hell, more than three centuries, linear time, a regeneration, several companions, a reboot of the universe and a faked death later, and it still hurt. Sometimes, he still wished for her hand in his—he remembered the way that his tenth incarnation's hand had laced perfectly with hers.

She was better off. She was safe. She was far, far away where he could no longer continue to ruin her life. But sometimes, he just _needed_ her.

_"Goodbye, my Sarah Jane." _

That had not been the first time that he had said goodbye to Sarah Jane Smith. But the way that she had looked at him when she had ordered him to say it—it had hurt. He really was a screwed up old man. He had left her behind—the way that he left everyone behind.

_"The rest of my life, travelling on the TARDIS. The Doctor Donna. No. Oh my God, I can't go back. Don't make me go back. Doctor, please, please don't make me go back."_

_ "Donna. Oh, Donna Noble. I am so sorry. But we had the best of times."_

_ "No."_

_ "The best. Goodbye."_

_ "No, no, no. Please, please. No. No!"_

Did it really need saying, how much it had hurt to take away Donna's memories of him? Of course not. His best friend, his _sister_, the first person that had been family to him in _that way_ since Gallifrey, and she was gone.

She was happy. He knew that. She was happy and healthy, and better off as long as he was no longer in her life. But was she really? Always knowing that something was missing, always pushing, always straining for something that he had ensured that she would ever reach. She would always feel broken, and she would never, could never know why.

And it was his fault. It was always his fault.

_"Raggedy Man. Goodbye."_

And, of course, the worst of the lot, at least right now. Rose had hurt just as much, when it had happened, and Donna too, but there had been time. Those wounds had healed somewhat—he didn't love them any less, but he wasn't such a walking open wound anymore.

But the sound of Amy's voice, the last words that he would ever hear her speak, echoing in his ears was pure agony. He had _begged_, begged her to come back into the TARDIS, all the while knowing that she wouldn't listen. He would have gotten down on his knees and pleaded, Weeping Angel be damned, it he had thought that it would help. He would have hit below the belt, brought up River—even if she would have made him regenerate for it—River did not need him making her life choices for her.

But really, River would probably be better off without him, too. A lonely God who can't take change that insists on the face of twelve year old, as she had said to Amy. He had better hearing than even River knew. And she deserved more than a lonely old man who clung to the past and couldn't take it when she wanted to be herself because he was so afraid of losing her.

Though—_really_? He was sick of the cracks about his age. This body was younger than any of his previous, sure, but Five had been pretty young—and Eight, and Ten as well. And all three of them, Five and Ten especially, had been prettier than this body.

Amy had made her choice—she had chosen Rory, just as she always had. And she should have been better off for it—not cold in a grave and far beyond his reach. Rose, Donna, they had always chosen him. Martha had chosen to walk away, and she was the only person that he hadn't destroyed utterly. Amy—she was supposed to have Rory to choose instead of him, because that would _protect her_. Because when Rose and Donna had chosen him, he had destroyed them.

His beloved Ponds—they only needed each other, but heneeded _them_. And like the selfish old man that he was, he had clung until there was nothing to cling to.

And their daughter, who needed nobody. He wasn't sure what he felt for River—not what he felt for Rose, not what he had sometimes wondered if he could have felt for Romana, if either of them had wanted to take the chance. But he did feel something for her, and now, on top of everything else, she was the last remaining relic that he had of his Ponds. But that would end, too. He _knew_ how that story ended—he had been there. If Amy had known, she would have ripped both of his hearts out of his chest with her bare hands, so he was fairly glad that he wouldn't have to break _that_ news to them, at least. If they had ever adopted more children (adopted, because Amy couldn't have children anymore, because he had failed to rescue her in time, failed to protect her from the consequences of knowing him), at least he wouldn't be around to screw up their lives, get them turned into psychopathic child assassins and fail to rescue _that_ child because its parents were stupid enough to keep company with a man who attracted enemies like metal to a magnet.

And, on top of everything else, he was apparently a glutton for punishment, because despite all of the signs to the contrary, he was doing it, _again_.

_"Pond."_

_ "I never know why. I only know who."_

_ "What's this?"_

_ "Me, giving in."_

And right when he did, it seemed that he was to lose her again. But somehow, impossibly, even as her last breath escaped her lips—

_"Run, you clever boy_."

Clara Oswin Oswald. He was chasing after her. He was finding her. He would find this beautiful girl, the beautiful, fast-talking genius who had spoken the one word that would drag him from his self-imposed exile without even knowing it. He would find the girl, the next one who would run the length of the universe with him.

_"I never know why. I only know who."_

And didn't he, though? He had known about Rose from the word run, about Martha soon after the hospital had ended up on the moon—

_ "Care to go outside?"_

_ "We might die."_

_ "We might not."_

Had known about Donna just as rapidly. He had known about Astrid as soon as she spoke of the stars, as soon as he saw her excitement for standing on earth. He always knew who.

And why?

_ "Something is going on. Something impossible."_

Could it be that the universe cared after all? Could it be that the universe was finally giving him something back? Did he dare to dream again?

**Wow, this ended on a far more hopeful note than I had thought that it would. Especially since this is another out-of-control drabble. In fact, consider it a companion to Shatter. Direct quotes taken from School Reunion, Doomsday, Smith and Jones, Journey's End, The Asylum of the Daleks, The Angels Take Manhattan and The Snowmen.**


End file.
